Harry Potter and the Veil of Death, Hogwarts Yr 7
by country-girl-inc
Summary: For most young wizards, the coming of age is an event to be celebrated. However, for Harry Potter it starts with the last pieces of his puzzling background, his best friends withholding their own secret, and the countdown to the final battle.
1. Remember My Last

HARRY POTTER AND THE VEIL OF DEATH  
  
CHAPTER ONE: REMEMBER MY LAST...  
  
The stars glittered in the night sky and the inhabitants of number four Privet Drive slept soundly in their beds, all but one unaware that all around the house cloaked figures were apparating onto the well manicured lawn. A teenage boy, his black hair untidy, his glasses slightly askew stared out at them from his bedroom window on the second story, the fingers of his right hand wrapped firmly around his wand as the fingers on his left trailed his scar, now a horrible combination of deep red and black.  
  
Harry Potter quickly ducked as the hidden faces turned in unison to stare directly up at his window. He couldn't help but wonder if they were friend or foe, but as of late had begun to dread the worst. However, down below very familiar voices confirmed otherwise.  
  
"They'll kick him out straight away at midnight Albus," a woman's voice said concernedly from between the folds.  
  
"If indeed they decide to kick Harry out," Albus templed his fingers together and they disappeared beneath his hood. "he will not leave without the truth."  
  
"So we're here to escort..."  
  
"Yes, Remus, we're taking him home."  
  
They made their way up the walk in unison, each of the figures submerged in their own troubling thoughts about the situation looming ahead. As Dumbledore, the tallest figure in the group by far, made to raise the doorknocker, a sudden gasp from those in back made him turn and watch as a pair of headlights bathed the driveway and stoop in light.  
  
The sound of the gasp drifted its way through the now partially cracked window and Harry rose up again, chancing a peek outside to see what was happening. The sight that met his eyes was most peculiar.  
  
He watched as the wizards and witches, wands partially out and on the ready, studied Dudley Dursley sitting behind the wheel of a sports car, his present from Mummy and Daddy for another successful year of bullying at Smeltings. Beside him was his rather revolting girlfriend, Ravelta Dingleton who as Harry watched with disgust, was climbing into the back seat of the car with Dudley trying to squeeze his broad shoulders and rather large rump in behind her.  
  
"What a revolting boy. Would it be okay if I just er," a witch with a high pitched voice twirled her wand around her fingers, the nails of which were unable to decide whether to stay a shocking red or a violent violet.  
  
"Absolutely not Tonks," Minerva hissed. "it's for the best he didn't see us," she paused. "stupid git."  
  
The group fell silent once more as Dumbledore cleared his throat. From upstairs Harry heard the quick succession of three raps before a pause. It took only two minutes for the house to spring to life.  
  
"Oh dear, I bet Diddykins forgot his key again--" came the distinct voice of Aunt Petunia in the bedroom across the hall. Uncle Vernon gave a loud grunt beside her before chuckling.  
  
"Ah, takes after me I always say. Could hardly get away from the girls I tell ya--"  
  
Three more raps came from downstairs, and curiosity piqued, Harry inched his way to his locked door, raising the cat flap for a chance to hear what might be happening. Only the sight of the lower half of Aunt Petunia wrapped in a floral robe met his gaze, however barely a minute later he heard her screaming horribly at the top of her lungs.  
  
Jumping to his feet, wand raised he unbolted his door, taking the steps two at a time and jumping down quickly to the landing. Hard footsteps behind him pounded in his ears as he heard Uncle Vernon wheezing and sputtering with anger.  
  
"I SAY--"  
  
But Harry did not stop to listen to Uncle Vernon's bellows, instead flinging himself into the hall and towards Aunt Petunia who lay smashed against the wall, the door once against closed, fighting for breath, her hand clutched over her heart.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
She opened her mouth but her response was muffled by the door swinging open once more, the group of cloaked figures Harry had seen from his room entering, murmuring amongst themselves. Getting into defensive position Harry braced himself for taking on the whole bunch.  
  
"Lower your wand boy," a voice growled from beneath a cloak. "I told you two summers ago and I tell you now that--"  
  
"Enough Alastor," the wizard in front said calmly. Harry's stomach lurched in pleasant surprise as the figure slid back the hood to reveal the flowing beard and wise, sparkling blue eyes that could belong to none other than Albus Dumbledore.  
  
"An early Happy Birthday to you Harry," he said regally, bowing.  
  
"You're," Harry lowered his wand. "all here for my birthday?"  
  
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said with a pause, his gaze meeting Petunia's who for a fleeting second looked as if she knew him.  
  
"NOW SEE HERE I WILL NOT HAVE YOU PEOPLE--"  
  
A soft hooting diminished Uncle Vernon's bellows as an owl swept over the group, dropping a wrapped brown package at Harry's feet.  
  
"AND THESE BLASTED OWLS!--"  
  
"It's from Hagrid!" Harry said happily, tucking the parcel under his arm. Dumbledore's smile widened.  
  
"He was unable to come with us tonight," he paused as he saw the look on Harry's face. "He is still in one piece, minus a few burns here and there. Now, would you mind," his gaze once again returned to Petunia. "if we might make ourselves at home?"  
  
"I VERY MUCH MIND--"  
  
"Vernon," Aunt Petunia said slowly. "I think we should."  
  
Her face was pale as she led them all into the living room, the plush armchairs and couches quickly occupied by witches and wizards whose faces became uncloaked almost simultaneously.  
  
"Professor McGonagall...Professor Lupin!" Harry said, a lump pushing against his Adam's Apple. "I--"  
  
"We don't have much time Harry," Dumbledore said and Harry turned and studied him looking oddly out of place in Aunt Petunia's rocker.  
  
"DAMN RIGHT YOU DON'T, I'LL GIVE YOU FIVE MINUTES TO--"  
  
"Oh, yes, dear me," Dumbledore's eyes swung up to meet Uncle Vernon's fiery beady eyed gaze. "I almost forgot to mention that we believe your son is waiting to speak to you out in the drive."  
  
Curiosity smothering another of Uncle Vernon's rants, he walked back into the hall. Everyone remained silent and Harry grinned as Dumbledore give him a wink before more outbursts began to fire from outside in the driveway where Harry could only think (with a queasy stomach, mind) the sight that had greeted an already purple faced Uncle Vernon.  
  
"Well I believe we are now ready to begin," Dumbledore said and Harry caught the immediate drop to absolutely seriousness in his voice. "Harry, tonight at midnight you will be seventeen."  
  
"Yes, I know," Harry said with a nod, looking around at many members of the Order, none of whom were smiling at this bit of information.  
  
"And tonight it is well within your rights to know the absolute truth."  
  
"But--"  
  
Dumbledore held up a steady hand, catching Harry with a mind full of thoughts and a mixture of what was to come. He had learned the hard way in the last few years that the truth was not always pleasant but always necessary to his continued struggle.  
  
"However, if you are to know the whole story it must begin with your Aunt Petunia."  
  
Harry had almost forgotten about Aunt Petunia who had flattened herself against the wall leading into the hall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her mouth formed a thin, yet quivering line as the whole room seemed to spotlight on her.  
  
"There's absolutely nothing to tell," she began simply.  
  
"Ah, but there is Petunia," Dumbledore said quietly.  
  
"After tonight my burden is done. Done I say!" Aunt Petunia spat, stopping only when she heard the sound of many fingertips reaching for wands.  
  
"This is what Harry must know. He must know it ALL Petunia."  
  
She marched out of the shadows and came to stand in the center of the room, turning herself so that she could look at no one but Harry. With unnerving calm she began to talk like someone who had just drank a whole flask of Vitaserum.  
  
"Before you were even a thought in my sister's mind she and I were innocent girls living in a normal world without any of this," she spread her arms wide indicating the cloaks and various wands still on the defensive. "And that's when..."  
  
"My mum received her letter," said Harry dully. He had already heard this story, had known it since the first day he knew he would be attending Hogwarts. "And me grandparents were thrilled."  
  
"Yes Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile. "and WHY were they thrilled Petunia?"  
  
He watched her lips quiver, and saw astonishingly bright tears well up into her cold gray eyes. Her next statement came out barely a croak, but the words were effective never-the-less.  
  
"Because their favorite daughter was able to go to school with the son of their best friends," she made a face as if her words were becoming rapidly sour. "The Potters."  
  
"My...mum knew dad before Hogwarts? But you said they met at scho--"  
  
"Don't you think I was ashamed? Ashamed of the way my parents revered those people? How they worked to make Lily and James fall for each other? I was the only one to see them for who they really were. Absolute freaks, weirdos, disgusting u--"  
  
"She's wasting our time Albus," Alastor growled, his slashed lips lifting so that his jagged teeth flashed with great dislike at Aunt Petunia.  
  
"No, she isn't. She just hasn't gotten to the most important part yet," Dumbledore said quietly. "And I would hate to do it for her." Aunt Petunia turned to look at him once again, and they exchanged a look that only they understood.  
  
"You," Harry paused, choosing his words carefully. "You knew my father then. You knew him well?"  
  
It took her the better part of five minutes and a wide range of facial coloration ranging from her pale white to a very vomital green before she said something so quietly that he was unable to hear.  
  
"He did not hear you Petunia," Dumbledore said quietly.  
  
"I said," she whimpered, staring anywhere but into any of their faces. "I loved him."  
  
The room went dead except for the sound of Tonks changing her eyes from large owl-like orbs to tiny mousey beads. It was the silence more than anything that made Harry uncomfortable.  
  
"You loved my dad?"  
  
"Petunia, dear, if you would please step outside a moment. I believe Vernon and your son are standing there wondering why they can't get back inside so if you would inform them both that we need to speak to Harry alone for a few moments..."  
  
As if there was an underlying story in these words she nodded, heading to the door without complaint, a red flush creeping up her long neck. As soon as the front door closed behind her, murmurings began but before they could reach a level of high pitched fervor Dumbledore rose.  
  
"Harry, it was a very peculiar and tense moment sixteen years ago that lead you to this house. I have informed you of the most pressing issues throughout the years but tonight I feel it is my duty while I still have breath left within me to piece it together and lay it before you so that you, Harry, can draw your own conclusions from its midst," he stated solemnly, his hands pressed together in front of him.  
  
Harry sat transfused in his seat, his forehead knitted as his temples pounded. He still could not gather how his Aunt Petunia, who cursed the name of all that was magical, could have loved James Potter, born from a long line of generations of witches and wizards.  
  
"I had," Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts and Harry met his wizened blue gaze. "the honor of meeting with your grandparents at this very house when Lily was accepted to Hogwarts. As Petunia said, she had observed their delight, but it took several hours indeed for them to realize the immense honor in having produced from a long line of Muggle heritage, a witch. " Dumbledore laughed, caught in his own Pensieve-like memory. "Quite like the meeting I had six years ago with Miss Granger's family I might add."  
  
He caught Harry's eye and for a moment smiled softly.  
  
"However, unlike my meeting with Miss Granger, there was a very curious young lady with a penchant for knowledge who, when she heard that Hogwarts was an honor, came out of hiding to ask if she could also attend, for this young lady adored her sister. You know, Harry, who this young lady was?"  
  
"Aunt Petunia," Harry said automatically but he couldn't help but struggle in conjuring an image of a young idolizing Aunt Petunia.  
  
"Right you are, but alas, I had to give, not only her, but her parents, the depressing news that she did not seem to possess any magical power and therefore would, withstanding an overnight transformation, not be receiving a letter the next year. It was after this that I'm afraid the animosity between Lily and Petunia began."  
  
"But my father..."  
  
"Your father, as I am sure you have gathered by now, was more than a bit of a jokester. Not only the pranks to be pulled on Severus turned cruel."  
  
Harry felt a deep surge of guilt, the same guilt that plagued him when he remembered the things that his father was notorious for.  
  
"I will say this only once Harry, and I mean every word, that your father loved your mother. But, at the same time he thought it a nice way to pass the summertime by assuring Petunia that he indeed fancied her more."  
  
"What--"  
  
"I do not know the exact details but I do know that what transpired that summer was so foul, so ugly that Petunia swore never to speak the names of Lily and James ever again, however," he paused, his eyes misting over. "even though she would not admit it, it has become clear to me that she still loved them both for Harry, she not only harbors the protection of the love of your mother via blood, but also that of your father, unrequited as it was."  
  
"But Professor Dumbledore," Harry said deeply, now keenly aware of why she had never shown him warmth. "even though she still loved them, she hated what they did to her. Why would she take me in and keep me as a constant reminder of that?"  
  
"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore shook his head. "In the kitchen right down the hall two summers ago you heard the message that was addressed to her. Do you remember it well?"  
  
"Remember my last, Petunia," Harry said automatically. "You sent it a--"  
  
"She was not to forget the commitment she made by taking you off the doorstep," he reminded Harry. "But, she was also to remind herself of the very last line of my letter that I settled upon you the night Voldemort fell."  
  
"What was it?" Harry asked, most perplexed.  
  
"That if she turned you away not only would she be declaring that she did not indeed love Lily but that she also had never cared for James and that without love, even love lost, what would be the meaning to life?  
  
The words hung heavy in the air, and Harry could distinctly hear Professor McGonagall and Tonks sniffling behind Dumbledore's towering shadow. He seemed to ignore their display of emotion, and Harry followed his gaze that was fixed intently on the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Seconds later deep resounding booms filled the room, twelve to be exact.  
  
"Harry if you will please stay here with the rest of the Order, I think I shall head outside and assure the Dursley's that their job has come to an end. I am sure that Petunia will be glad to know that she will no longer erupt in angry magenta boils if she does not allow you to stay here next summer," he said with an air of nonchalantness. If Harry had not become most accustomed to these wide swings of seriousness and lightness he might have agreed with those that thought that Albus Dumbledore was maddening in his old age.  
  
"Great man Dumbledore," growled Alastor, his magical blue eye following the Headmaster outside while his normal eye remained fixed on Harry.  
  
"You have a long night ahead of yeh boy."  
  
"I do?" Harry asked blankly, looking around at the group, who were steadfastly solemn.  
  
"Harry, Dumbledore's given us orders that we're to take you to Headquarters," Lupin said softly. "He wants to finish explaining...some things there."  
  
It dawned on him that apart from Professor McGonagall, he was surrounded by the same guard that had guided him from Little Whinging to London before. But he knew that he wouldn't have to go...that he wouldn't be...  
  
"Grimmauld Place, Harry," Lupin confirmed softly.  
  
"But--"  
  
He was cut off by the reappearance of Professor Dumbledore, his shadow filling the doorway. Dumbledore looked in turn to each of those seated in a circle around Harry.  
  
"If you would please escort Harry to our meeting place, I will be there to greet you all when you arrive."  
  
And, without another word, he apparated in front of their eyes. 


	2. The Coming of Age

HARRY POTTER AND THE VEIL OF DEATH  
  
CHAPTER TWO: THE COMING OF AGE  
  
Harry stood looking at Grimmauld Place, his frozen hands still clutched to the handle of his broomstick. The last place he had ever wanted to return (apart from the Dursleys, of course) was that of his late godfather's. His mind replayed the scene of Sirus' descent into that misty veil and the shocked look on his gaunt face and he felt his stomach gave a great lurch. Only the feel of Remus' hand on his shoulder caused him to tear his eyes away from the magically locked door into the eyes of the only member of his father's old group of friends that was left.  
  
"C'mon Harry," he said simply. The group seemed to tighten around him, ushering Harry towards the steps.  
  
At the first tap of Alastor Moody's wand, the door opened and blue eyes nodded in relief.  
  
"Thank you all," Dumbledore said, looking at each member in turn. "If you would please leave Harry with me, you all have earned a night off duty."  
  
There was a great murmur of ascent and collectively they whispered reassurances to Harry, especially Professor McGonagall and Tonks who hugged him thrice apiece.  
  
"See you at Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall whispered in his ear, and he nodded. The only comforting thought was that of Hogwarts - the only place he wanted to be at the moment.  
  
"Come in," Dumbledore said, stepping back so that Harry, walking automatically past the troll leg umbrella, could face him directly in the darkened hallway.  
  
A silent conversation passed between the eyes of green and blue and with ascension Dumbledore finally conceded with a nod.  
  
"The kitchen, Harry."  
  
They walked soundlessly down into the kitchen, and even as they did, Harry could hear the feet of Kreacher the old house elf tiptoeing from somewhere above, no doubt to eavesdrop on what he was about to hear. Tears misted his eyes as he remembered how hopeful Sirius had been, wondering aloud to all if Kreacher would one day just die upstairs in a cupboard or vent.  
  
"Accio butterbeer!" Dumbledore declared as they entered the torch-lit basement kitchen. Two bottles of butterbeer slid along the table, scattering dust as they settled directly across from each other. Harry sat heavily in one of the chairs, his fingers, with lack of anything better to do, wrapping around the glass bottle. He watched as Professor Dumbledore settled himself slowly into a seat, once again reminded how much he had aged since their first meeting six years before.  
  
"The coming of age of any witch or wizard," Dumbledore began, looking directly into Harry's face. "is a stepping-stone. It is for most the beginning, not the end of ones life."  
  
"But for me?" Harry found himself saying, a deep sense of what the answer would be hanging heavy in the air.  
  
"You," and at this Dumbledore smiled sadly, reaching over to place his weathered palm upon Harry's hand. "are wise beyond your years Harry Potter for alas, you are different. You knew you were different since the very first day Hagrid lead you into The Leaky Cauldron, and it was then, I'm afraid, that the clock began a countdown. For years I turned a blind eye away from this thought, assured that the years would not go so quickly, that I could freeze you at eleven, twelve, thirteen..."  
  
It took but a second for Dumbledore's hand to slide from over Harry's, coiling itself into a fist. It hit the table with such fierce anger that sloshes of butterbeer dripped from the bottles onto the carved wood.  
  
"How foolish I was, for today," he said softly. "you are seventeen and the clock has almost run out, for Harry you now know as well as I that before one of you may live.."  
  
"The other must die," Harry mumbled, feeling strangly detached from what was going on, as if he was just an innocent observer.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said, and Harry could pick up the forced restraint of the crumbling voice very clearly indeed. "you have until you leave Hogwarts forever to defeat Voldemort. After that... "  
  
"I will die."  
  
Dumbledore began to speak again, but Harry could not hear. Glimpses of conversations threaded themselves together: Fred and George demanding to join the Order during their seventh year, being told that they were of age but not above - the way Tom Riddle captured his sixteen-year old self in a diary, a symbolism of the protective quality of youth - how Cedric, so close to the future, lay void of life, his dead eyes staring up at Harry...  
  
"HARRY!"  
  
He had not realized that he had slid off his chair, but his mouth opened and a deeply animalistic scream filled the house. From the hall, Sirus' mother joined in with rants of mud-bloods and half-bloods and other utter filth, but he hardly noticed for blinding light began to pound against his temples, causing him to vomit. He firmly pressed his right hand against his scar and as he did so, it bled - one thin trickle down the bridge of his nose, a drop quacking on his upper lip until he could taste it on his tongue.  
  
It was this taste of blood that seemed to weaken him completely and the only thing he could see, before he allowed his eyes to roll back in his head, was the underside of Dumbledore's beard as the man held him in his arms mumbling words that he could not, or would not, allow himself to hear.  
  
* * *  
  
He awoke much later in the night, in the bedroom he had shared with Ron while he had been here last before. The portrait of Phineas Nigellus seemed to give a tremendous shake as he lifted his head, a sure sign that he had gone to tell Dumbledore that he had once again resumed consciesousness. Sure enough, it only took a span of but a few minutes before he heard the swishing of robes and footsteps, however considerably more than two.  
  
"Albus, of all night's to tell him," a woman's voice whispered as they neared the door.  
  
"Molly, time is short. You of all people realize..."  
  
"Gerrof, Hermione! When can we--"  
  
"Not NOW Ron!"  
  
Harry watched as the door creaked open slowly. He turned quickly to his side, shutting his eyes. He had not known the Weasley's were here -- had they heard, no even worse, seen what had happened in the kitchen? His head swam as he remembered the taste of his own blood in his mouth and Dumbledore holding him...like a baby...  
  
Before he could think of the horror and embarassment of the situation he felt the end of the bed dip under the weight of another. It did not take more than one guess to know indeed who it was.  
  
"If you all will return to your bedrooms, I can assure you that tomorrow you may visit with Harry. Tonight has been extremely stressful, horrible indeed--"  
  
Mrs. Weasley gave a tremendous sob ending in a torrent of hiccups as he heard their footsteps retreating back down the hall. Harry only hoped that Dumbledore might take his own advise, for he just wanted to lie in this bed...to think of what, if anything he could possibly do...  
  
"We're going to fight, Harry." Dumbledore whispered. "Remus, Alastor, Severus, I...we're going to help you. We're going to be with you when you confront Tom and we're going to watch you beat him. You possess qualities that I nor even you, I believe, realize. You are like the son I never had," Harry felt tears spring to his eyes, but this time felt no shame. "I will fight beside you until I can no longer breathe. You will NEVER be alone as long as you have faith in the cause."  
  
Harry felt him rise, and the very tips of his fingers trail the scar that ached only dully now.  
  
"Happy Birthday Harry," he murmured, and Harry listened intently as the door clicked back into place once more.  
  
"That one's soft on you, he is," Phineaus sneered from his frame, causing Harry to sit up and cast a burning look in its general direction.  
  
"It must have been hell not to have anyone love you," Harry retorted softly, pausing as he felt his foot hit something solid.  
  
"What good is love?" Phineas chortled. "The weakest of all powers I say."  
  
With a gently 'swoosh' he once again left his portrait in the House of Black, but Harry paid no heed. Instead, his fingertips fell over the leather binding of a book so thick it would have made Hermoine drool, however, it was the title that caught Harry's eye:  
  
The Diary of Lily Evans Potter  
  
"No, Phineaus," Harry couldn't help but whisper in the darkness as he opened to the first page.  
  
"Love is the strongest of all." 


	3. Worried Weasleys

CHAPTER THREE: BILL'S BIG NEWS  
  
As footsteps echoed through the house and sunlight filtered through the dusty windows signaling the beginning of a new morn, Harry realized with sinking enthusiasm that as much as he would like to stay holed up in this very room and begin to read his mother's diary, the Weasley's were waiting to greet him downstairs. The smell of Mrs. Weasley's eggs, bacon and toast permeated his nose, and as if confirming that he indeed needed to make an appearance, his stomach gave a rather loud rumble.  
  
Five minutes later, hair somewhat in order and completely dressed, Harry descending each level listening to the loud voices coming from the kitchen. He was absolutely certain that by the many different pitches of voices that almost the whole of the Weasley family was congregated in the room. This thought was confirmed as he entered, and the room's noise level dropped dramatically.  
  
Sitting together and pointing at a rather large color advertisement for the Grand Opening of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, Fred and George looked up with grins as Harry made his way towards the table. Mrs. Weasley, however, still looked extra red-eyed and puffy faced with worry lines clearly visible on her face. She made an attempt to cough, miserably failing at concealing a new sob. To make matters worse, Ginny and Hermione looked as if they too would have a go at it if things continued.  
  
"Listen," Harry said, clearing his throat and continuing on in a deeper, steadier voice. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. No one needs to worry about everything. We have everything under control."  
  
"Blimey well put Harry," Fred declaring, banging his fist against the table. "Now, would you care to try out some new Malife--"  
  
"Harry, how can you say everything's fine?" Hermione said, in an abnormally high voice. "We..."  
  
"Needn't to talk about it, dear!" Mrs. Weasley yelped, slamming down a large helping of scrambled eggs which sloshed yellow globules onto the table. Her gaze traveled to the doorway.  
  
"Bill, sit down and eat," she commanded tersely, turning her back on the group.  
  
Harry watched as Bill, his hair longer than ever and a blood-stained fang hanging from his ear, gave Harry a weak smile, and sat down, helping himself to several strips of bacon.  
  
"Hand me some toast mate?" Ron said softly, and Harry jumped, forgetting that his best friend sat glumly by his side, his shoulders slumped as if an invisible weight was pushing him down. Harry did as asked, but as he pushed the plate in Ron's general direction, whispered --  
  
"Upstairs after breakfast, you, me and Hermione."  
  
Ron nodded but didn't look up. They all ate in silence, the air so thick that Harry began to feel the onset of another round of nervousness. Looking around the table he tried to pinpoint a conversation starter.  
  
"Er, so how are things going at the Ministry?" he asked Bill nonchalantly, his teeth pressing into the metal of his egg-ladened fork.  
  
"Ah, yes Bill how is the ministry?" George grinned.  
  
"Or," Fred chimed in. "better yet, how is Fleur?"  
  
Soft laughter echoed around the table, and even Mrs. Weasley couldn't suppress a smile as she nibbled on the corner of a piece of toast. Bill, however, cast a scathing look at his twin brothers.  
  
"Er," Harry began, unsure of whether to laugh or glance around just as scathingly. "Wha' about her?"  
  
"Bill," Hermione said, with a roll of her eyes at Fred and George, "is getting married. In two weeks isn't it?"  
  
Harry watched as Bill ducked his head, grunting what he assumed was a yes. Meanwhile, the twins continued to twitter, leaning over Ron to whisper to Harry, "We're in charge of the bachelor party mate. Anyone of age is invited, well except Perc--"  
  
"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOT TO SPEAK OF--"  
  
"Sorry mum," Fred mumbled, sitting back in his seat. George quickly followed suit, staring sullenly at his plate.  
  
"Is Percy still--" Harry whispered as softly as possible to Ron, who nodded.  
  
"It's bad...I'll, er tell you when we get..."  
  
As if propelled by the long agenda of things to discuss, they finished soon after, excusing themselves upstairs amidst curious looks from Bill, Ginny and the twins. Harry lead the way with Ron and Hermione following, into his room, closing the door behind them the moment they were inside.  
  
"Harry," Hermione began. "We know bits and pieces of what Dumbledore told you last night. Fred and George--"  
  
"They're in the Order now.." Ron added.  
  
"They filled us in on it. Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried and in a whirl of bushy hair attacked him, her arms locking tightly around his waist. Harry stood uncertainly, his fingers gently pushing into her back in a small sign of comfort.  
  
"C'mon 'ermione, gerrof him," Ron grumbled, tugging at her hand. After several tries she finally came loose, shooting a dirty look at Ron, but nevertheless sitting beside him. Both of them looked up at Harry.  
  
"Er, well...if you know..." Harry stumbled around for the right words but none came. "I have a year," he finally said, his voice wrought with finality. "I'm going to fight."  
  
Hermione looked like she might start to sob again and horrified, Harry saw that Ron didn't look too far behind. However, it was Ron who stood up first, his jaw set.  
  
"Well you'll have Dumbledore...and me."  
  
"And me," Hermione added, standing up. "I'll scour the library. There has to be some way..."  
  
"No book will beat Voldemort, Hermione," Harry reminded, walking towards the window and looking down at Grimmauld Square. "No book, nor my wand. It will be something else...something that won't come to me until my final minutes," he added.  
  
"You're NOT going to die, Harry," Ron groaned. Harry's eyes shifted to watch as he pulled a tuft of red hair from his scalp, too distraught to feel the pain. "Anyhow, we have a whole year. We can't just sit here and worry..."  
  
"Harry dying is something to worry about! We only have until the end of the school year! I swear Ronald Weasley, sometimes you can be so selfish and..."  
  
Harry braced himself for the beginning of another quarrel between the two, shutting his eyes to control his temper, much like a parent overseeing two little children, but the bickering never started. Opening his eyes he watched, surprised, as Hermione, crying softly, leaned into Ron who, doing much better than Harry did, hugged her tightly and whispered something that relaxed her shoulders immensely.  
  
"Er," Harry coughed, feeling a blush creep along his face. Ron looked at him, almost apologetically, and at once let go of Hermione, who turned, but not before wiping at the wet stain sinking into Ron's shirt.  
  
"This is ridiculous," she declared with a strong voice that conflicted very much with her blotchy face. "Why don't we..." she looked back at Ron, who immediately shifted his gaze to the ceiling, his fingers trailing the spot where her tears seeped through. "Why don't we forget about all this, enjoy the next two weeks and then get down to work," she said with a sigh. "I mean there's a wedding coming up!"  
  
"Yeah, er, there is!" Harry said trying to force enthusiasm into his voice. Attempting a half smile, he sat on his bed, his hands beginning to reach for the diary. "And I've got to show--"  
  
He trailed off as a knock sounded at the door, and Bill's voice came through the solid wood.  
  
"Er, Ron mum wants you back in the kitchen fer a few minutes. Measure you for your, er, robes for the, yeah..."  
  
He trailed off and the footsteps receded. Harry watched as Ron and Hermione shared a soft smile and he felt, for the first time that he might be intruding, but on what, he did not know.  
  
"Mate, do you mind if I run down there really quick? I'm in the wedding and..."  
  
"What? No, of course not, no problem. Actually I'll see you around lunchtime I er,"  
  
"Didn't you say you had something to show us?" Hermione interrupted, her eyes going from him to his hand, which Harry quickly pulled from under the spread.  
  
"Did I? No, I don't. Must have just slipped out wrong. Go on," Harry forced a smile.  
  
Ron made towards the door, turning it but stopped before sliding out, gazing back at Harry with a look as if he had just remembered something important.  
  
"Hermy, would you mind filling Harry in on Percy?"  
  
Harry had forgotten about his inquiry about the ongoing status of Percy's place in the Weasley family. Hermione nodded however, and shut the door behind Ron, talking only when she heard his footsteps going downstairs.  
  
"You don't have to, I just was cu--"  
  
"Of course you're curious! And you DO need to know Harry," she said looking very uncomfortable. "The Order has a strong suspicion that Percy might have joined forces with the Death Eaters. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hope it isn't true, but if it is, oh, I only hope it's because he's being controlled by the Imperious Curse. It would break their hearts if he was doing it on his own accord," she sighed deeply.  
  
Harry thought of Percy, his least favorite of the Weasley brothers and wondered how anyone so focused on rule-following could join forces with people who cared less about right and wrong unless...  
  
"I suppose Percy is still hungry for power," Harry said out loud, but mostly to himself.  
  
"Well, the ministry let him go. He was trying to take over, but there have been rumors. They say he's gaining in the ranks elsewhere, but..."  
  
"What will be will be," Harry said, most anxious to stop picturing Percy in the Death Eater's circle, a faceless entity bowing to their Dark Lord...  
  
"Besides, what's going on with you and Ron?" he blurted, trying to meet Hermione's quickly fleeting gaze.  
  
"I don't know what you mean Harry..."  
  
Harry sat dumbfounded, unsure how to explain. What was he to say? 'How come Ron was actually patting your back properly?' No, that definitely sounded stupid...  
  
"I don't either...listen, I think I'm going to lie down for a couple more hours. See you at lunch?" he asked. He thought he heard her breath a sigh of relief, and a smile emerged on her lips.  
  
"Sure Harry, get some rest."  
  
She patted his knee, and headed towards the door, giving him a parting wave before closing the door behind her. As she retreated Harry sank back into the pillows, his hand reaching under his spread once more and pulling out his mother's diary. Again, he flipped to page one, determined not to fall asleep this time... 


	4. Through Lily's Eyes

CHAPTER FOUR: THROUGH LILY'S EYES  
  
Brittle pages rested on Harry's fingertips as he scanned unfamiliar, extremely feminine writing that he knew belonged to his mother. Checking the date, he was most pleasantly surprised to realize that this was indeed a complete chronicle starting with her first day at Hogwarts and continuing onward. Fixing his glasses that had once again become askew, he leaned forward, his nose inches from the page. He had only once before been so engrossed with a diary, the magical diary of Tom Riddle, but he had never imagined that his own mother's would cause quite the same effect, until, with an eerily familiar sensation, things began to blur and only stopped when he had landed firmly on his feet...directly into the Great Hall of Hogwarts.  
  
Looking around he took in the four banners proudly displaying the houses of Hogwarts: Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. He walked silently between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, sitting down beside an unfamiliar Gryffindor prefect who sat motionless, staring at the door where Harry knew his mother stood waiting to be sorted. Indeed, everyone was transfixed on the door included, to Harry's delight, a younger Dumbledore, whose hair was a mixture of auburn and white, his blue eyes sparkling as Professor McGonagall, younger herself, lead in the line of first years, the Sorting Hat and stool held firmly in her hands.  
  
Harry watched transfixed as she placed the stool down, the old Sorting Hat staying quite still until finally the slit at the brim opened wide, beginning his yearly song, which Harry realized was once again different than the ones he had previously heard.  
  
One stormy night years ago A meeting held in this very room Signified the beginning of the end As Slytherin predicted doom  
  
"But why," Gryffindor demanded at once "must you destroy our trust?" "Alas," Slytherin replied "the prophecy declares it must."  
  
"For when I take that special one,  
  
who of course does not belong They will be most tested of their will of right and wrong"  
  
"If they choose correctly our world will be most pure But of a choice wrongly made All is lost to be quite sure."  
  
"Surely allowed," Ravenclaw interjected "are all those of sharpest mind?" "and the rest of the lot," Hufflepuff reminded "that make just as good of find?"  
  
"Of course!" Gryffindor declared. "Most definitely not," Slytherin said and the others raised an almighty roar as added "Mudbloods and half-bloods are better off dead."  
  
And soon after Slytherin parted ways and the prophecy forgotten but tonight must I declare it will rise most foul and rotten  
  
So now I yell first years line up! There's no turning back A mudblood Slytherin tonight must be Among those in the pack  
  
The Hall remained silent, no one remembering to clap. Harry watched as a shudder started at the beginning of the line of first years and traveled all the way to the very back to a boy with untidy black hair who stood staring at the hat as if it was his death sentence. It was at that moment that Harry knew that the boy could be no one other than his dad, for he had felt the same way as he waited for 'Potter, Harry' to be called from the list.  
  
"Black, Sirus!" Professor McGonagall said loudly, causing Harry to tear his eyes from his fidgeting father to a handsome young boy who, with a cheeky grin, made his way to the Sorting Hat. With a sort of flourish he dipped the hat upon his head, disappearing under it for a full minute before the brim opened wide---  
  
"GRYFFINDOR!" it declared, and the prefect behind him whooped loudly as Sirus came towards him, causing Harry's eyes to mist as he watched his godfather shaking hands vigorously with the others.  
  
"Evans, Lily!"  
  
Harry had almost forgotten about her, as he had become engrossed in watching Sirus so full of life, but when he saw his mum, even that didn't seem to matter anymore. He felt his face take on a deep longing as he watched his mother, her frizzy auburn hair flying around her tightly closed eyes, perch precariously on the edge of the stool as Professor McGonagall settled the hat upon her head, where it sat silent for one minute, then two...  
  
Five minutes later the hall began to grow restless, people whispering amongst themselves that never had they seen the Sorting Hat take this long and many wondering whether Hogwarts might have sent her a letter by mistake. Harry felt his anger rise at these murmurs and he wanted to yell at them to let them know that his mum did belong and that she was destined for great things--  
  
"Well, I say..." the hat croaked and the Great Hall turned a collective head. "It must be done, so I declare...LET IT BE SLYTHERIN!"  
  
Harry felt his blood run cold as he watched his mother heading towards the Slytherins, who allowed her to sit in silence for several minutes before welcoming her to their group. Meanwhile, up in front he could hear 'Lupin, Remus' being called but he didn't care. He felt his legs propelling him to the Slytherin table, he stood right behind his mum, the tears burning his eyes. Gingerly he extended his hand, desperate to grab her arm and pull her away...pull her to the Gryffindor table where he had always assumed she had belonged.  
  
"It can't be," he bemoaned as a Slytherin girl leaned forward to whisper to his mum, an evil glint in her eye. "N--"  
  
He felt cold and extremely odd as a figure walked straight through him, settling down at the empty space beside his mother. He turned to it in anger, hating the fact that they were contaminating his memory of his mum when he realized the figure sitting beside her had a head full of long black greasy strands and was shaking his mother's hand animatedly.  
  
"Snape," Harry hissed. "Don't touch her, don't you dare touch her...DON'T TOUCH MY---"  
  
"HARRY! HARRY!"  
  
Sharp nails dug into his shoulder and he yelped, struggling to unstick his cheek from the pages of the diary. Anger spread through his veins like he had never known and as he opened his eyes and came face to face with Hermione he mistook her bushy hair for that of his mother's.  
  
"HOW COULD YOU?!" he screamed, his hands slamming the book shut, tossing it quickly down upon his spread.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT MATE?" Ron screamed back and it was his voice, a voice that so obviously couldn't be from the past, that allowed Harry to float back into the present, to find Ron's hands firmly placed on Hermione's shoulders and a deep scowl on his face.  
  
"Why are you yelling at Hermione? She wasn't doing anything to you!"  
  
"Ron," Hermione whispered. "bug off, I don't think it was me he was yelling at." she looked directly into Harry's eyes and it was then that he realized with horror what he had done.  
  
"I'm so sorry, I thought you were my, that is to say--"  
  
"What is that?"  
  
He followed their gaze to the book and realized that even a glimpse of it was now making him shudder with rage.  
  
"Dumbledore gave it to me," he said quietly. "It's my mum's diary."  
  
"Have you started to read it yet?" Ron asked, as Hermione quickly swept to the door, shutting it softly.  
  
"What do you think?" Harry spat back angrily. He knew that they would want to know what he had just experienced, but he also wondered what they would think of him, after they learned the truth. Silence filled the room as he weighed these thoughts heavily in his mind.  
  
"You don't have to tell us Harry, but...I know if Dumbledore left it for you, he must know that it might help with what's to come," Hermione said softly. Harry cast her a scathing look.  
  
"How can me mum being in Slytherin help destroy Voldemort?" he said, his voice cracking against his will.  
  
Ron and Hermione gave a collective gasp before speaking in unison.  
  
"Slytherin? But how..."  
  
"No way! I mean, she was..."  
  
"HOLD IT!" Harry snapped bitterly. "If you'd just shut it for one moment I can tell you," he sighed.  
  
They sat in silence as Harry recanted all that he had seen in five minutes time. When he was finished it was Hermione who spoke first.  
  
"I don't understand that prophecy at all," she mused, her fingers tapping against her chin as her focus went from Harry to a spot on the wall.  
  
"Neither do I," Ron said, leaning back against the footboard of the bed, tucking his hands behind his head. "I mean what choice would your mum, a Muggle, have to make, that would kill off everyone but pure-bloods. I mean obviously, she made the wrong cho-" at a glance from Hermione he rephrased very quickly. "I mean based on the Sorting Hat she obviously made the wrong choice, which was the right choice, er--" his eyes crossed horribly. "Blimey, I'm confused."  
  
"Join the crowd," Harry muttered, his eyes falling back to the diary which had looked so innocent hours before. A deep sense of melancholy seemed to engulf him, as he traced over and over again his mother's name, his eyes blocking out anything but the gold stamping until--  
  
"Harry, don't you think you should keep reading?" Hermione suggested. "I know it's a shock but maybe if you read on it'll give you some insight."  
  
"Keep reading?" he laughed. "You're off your rocker."  
  
"She's right y'know," Ron said tentatively, avoiding a nasty glare from Harry. "I mean, not right now of course...maybe a little at a time. Y'know like a nasty tasting cough syru--"  
  
"Ron! Don't be thick," Hermione scowled. "You're talking about something ve- -"  
  
"No," Harry sighed. "He's right. But I'm just going to put it away for now."  
  
He opened his bedside drawer, placing it upon a thick layer of dust. For a few seconds he stared at it, until the thought of his mum a Slytherin made him seize with rage and--  
  
BANG!  
  
The drawer snapped forcibly closed and he heard Ron and Hermione jump in unison. His scar began to prickle uncomfortably as he looked at them once more, and with a desperate attempt for a change of subject attempted a half- smile.  
  
"Let's talk about something else, eh? Maybe fill me in on Bill and Fleur?"  
  
He tried to ignore the look that passed between Ron and Hermione and was rather thankful when Ron began a rather longwinded story of how the twins had managed to ruin the engagement party by switching Fleur's ring for one which turned the wearer's finger into a sausage. It seemed that everyone was looking forward to the wedding, and even Harry had to admit that he would rather enjoy being happy again...  
  
If only for a little while. 


	5. Night of the Veela

CHAPTER FIVE: NIGHT OF THE VEELA  
  
The morning of the wedding arrived barely two weeks later as Mrs. Weasley marched into each bedroom well before the sun had risen, tossing people out of their beds here and there with a flick of her wand. She had, most considerately, saved Harry for last so that by the time she opened his bedroom door he was already sitting up, reaching for his glasses on the bedside table.  
  
"Oh, dear you're already awake," she said with a smile. "How wonderful! Breakfast will be in about an--" she turned her head. "FRED! HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT KREACHER IS NOT A LAB MONKEY?"  
  
At that she disappeared and Harry rose quickly, his emptied brain quickly refilling with the same thought that had greeting him every morning since he had learned...his mum was one of them.  
  
He had not opened the diary since; the thought of what else may lay written on those pages too unnerving, but he could not fight his attraction to the drawer where it lay, calling for him to open it again. He had always heard how his mum and dad had been top notch Gryffindors...Head Boy and Girl. It just didn't make sense. Sitting back down upon the bed he took a deep breath, slowly pulling the drawer towards him when--  
  
"I feel like I've been beaten to a bloody pulp by that damn Whomping Willow," Ron moaned, and Harry turned to watch as his friend made his way bleary eyed towards the bed where he sat, his head falling onto Harry's shoulder with a thud.  
  
"Erm, nice night?" Harry asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips while Ron managed a smile that quickly turned into a grimance.  
  
"Oh, you should have come mate," Ron gingerly lifted his head, a hand placed firmly at the temple. "Firewhiskey was flowing from beginning till end and Fred and George managed to find these hags who weren't really hags at all and...well you get the picture."  
  
Harry felt a pang of jealousy as he listened to Ron ramble on, wishing he too could have been there. It had been taken for granted he would be attending until just the previous morning when Mrs. Weasley had firmly put her foot down.  
  
"Absolutely not," she had said, sloshing bottles of syrup onto the table.  
  
"But Molly," Mr. Weasley had interjected. "We're all going to be there...Alastor, Remus, me..."  
  
"Yes all of you drowning in vats and vats of FireWhiskey."  
  
The whole table watched as Mr. Weasley made to object, but Mrs. Weasley beat him to it.  
  
"Don't give me that look Arthur...I know as well as you do what goes on at those parties."  
  
They had left it at that and so, while Harry watched glumily from the upstairs landing, Mr. Weasley, closely trailed by Fred, George and Ron had left, laughing amongst themselves while Hermoine tried her best to cheer him up.  
  
"You can come down to the girls party," she had suggested lightly as high pitched squeals floated up from the living room. Hermoine's face tinted crimson.  
  
"No, go on, I'm going to er, read..." Harry trailed off as a loud 'whoop' met their ears. (He had a second's sickening vision of Gilderoy Lockhart down there in a speedo). Hermione looked beside herself.  
  
"Are you, er..." she trailed off, her eyes glancing over the banister.  
  
"Go!" he had said and watched as she scampered downward. With a sigh he had disappeared into his room, instead opting for several quiet hours of stargazing at the windowsill, trying desperately to clear his mind before sleep blanketed his eyes...  
  
"...and er you get to meet Fleur's family today," Ron was saying. Harry blinked fast, trying to act as if he had been hanging onto every word.  
  
"Hey, I know Gabrielle," Harry said with a grin, remembering all too well how grateful Fleur had been when he had pulled her sister from the bottom of the lake in his fourth year.  
  
"Yeah, yeah but, er, well I'll let you see for yourself," Ron declared, standing up on slightly unsteady footing. "See you downstairs?"  
  
"Huh? Oh yeah, see you in a few," Harry said, watching Ron walk a clearly zig zagged line out the door as Fred and George began to taunt Bill with the Doomsday March from somewhere above.  
  
* * *  
  
The morning flew by quickly as people bumped and pushed at each other, calling orders back and forth as they all tried to render themselves presentable. Harry stood for several minutes taking in his new dress robes, a deep midnight blue to compliment the wedding 'theme' as Mrs. Weasley had called it.  
  
"'ey Harry," Ron said opening the door a crack. "You ready? Mom says we have to leave in about five minutes."  
  
"Huh?" Harry turned, feeling foolish that he hadn't stopped to realize that such a large event couldn't possibly be held IN Grimmauld Place. "Er, where is the wedding at again?" He watched as Ron smiled widely, looking quite tall and dapper himself, his red hair contrasting nicely with his dark blue attire.  
  
"Mizz Delacour eensisted that she could not marry eenyone if zee wedding could not be held in er native home of France," Ron said in a rather bad impression of Fleur. Harry couldn't help but laugh.  
  
"I take it a portkey then, eh?"  
  
"You got it mate," Ron winked, and they headed down the stairs together to find Mrs. Weasley tucking last minute strands of hair back into a bun, dressed in rather flattering robes of ivory.  
  
"Oh good, there you two are," she cried, clapping her hands together, her eyes darting around the room. "Now we're missing..." she seemed to lose count for her eyes trailed over everyone again.  
  
"Me, Mrs. Weasley," Hermoine said meekly, rushing into the room. Guiltily, Harry swept his eyes over her, allowing himself a rare moment to appreciate how well she cleaned up. As it had for the Yule Ball, her hair was straight and gleaming but she had left it down, the long strands falling down her back with little more than a curl at the ends. Ivory robes, almost identical to Mrs. Weasley showed off a figure that--  
  
"And me, mum," Ginny cried, running to join the circle so that Harry, surprising himself, found himself beginning to appraise her instead. It occured to him at just that moment that she wasn't the little girl that he had rescued from the Chamber of Secrets but more like--  
  
"Everyone gather around the present, at least one finger on it now...that a dear..." Mrs. Weasley commanded as everyone leaned in to touch an elegantly wrapped box with a mound of ribbon on top.  
  
"I don't see why we couldn't have apparated...we've been doing it for years," Fred complained, as George let out a yell of, "Ger off my foot!"  
  
"The wedding party arrives together, I've already told you that," Mr. Weasley sighed, glancing towards the clock. "It has to be almost time..."  
  
Harry counted the seconds with everyone else and felt his fingers cramping horribly as he struggled to maintain a hold on a loop of ribbon. It was as he heard Mr. Weasley sigh once again that he looked at Ron, a thought bubbling to the surface.  
  
"Hey Ron, I'm not a member of the wedding party."  
  
"Of course you are!" he answered back, grinning sheepishly across from him. "You're escorting Ginny!"  
  
"Who're you escorting?"  
  
Harry watched as Ron's face flushed a vibrant red. To the right of Harry's elbow, Ginny giggled, her eyes sparkling.  
  
"Oh that's easy. Hermoine's HIS date."  
  
Harry grinned and glanced at Hermione, who seemed almost transfixed by the clock. Snickering, he leaned towards Ron to congratulate him on finally asking her out when he felt a strange, but familiar, tug around his midsection as they sped off towards their destination. Ginny banged horribly into his side and the whole group gave a collective grunt as they sped forward in a rush of wind, sucked magically forward until--  
  
They landed in a heap, Harry panicking as he felt something slither across his face until he realized, most embarassing, that it was nothing but the bottom of Ginny's robes as she struggled to her feet. She held out a hand, and blurrily he stood, realizing that his glasses must have been knocked off in the process. Feebly he scanned the ground, his eyes at a squint until he heard her laugh.  
  
"Looking for these?" she inquired and he turned, watching as she dangled a black blur in front of him. Grabbing them quickly he snuffed them back on his nose, giving her a sheepish 'Thanks' in return.  
  
"Oh mother zey are here! All of zem, and ooh!"  
  
Harry stumbled once more as a white streak flew into him. He gasped for breath as tight arms embraced him and watched as Fleur's beaming face popped up rendering them nose to nose.  
  
"And zey brought 'arry too!"  
  
It seemed to Harry that matrimony brought out the veela in her even more, as she stood looking other-wordly, her blonde hair and her whitish blonde dress catching every guys stare around her, including Ron who yelped most loudly as Hermione jabbed her elbow sharp into his side.  
  
"I am so glad that all of zee family could be here for my big day," she declared throwing her arms out and beaming a wide smile to everyone,which Fred and George returned most stupidly.  
  
"Yes well," Harry heard Mr. Weasley say, stepping forward. "Guys, I think we better check on Bill..."  
  
Harry watched as Mr. Weasley wound the fingers of each hand around the back of the twin's collars, yanking them backwards to loud grumbles of protest. Ron followed them out, shaking his head, and Harry, most unwilling to stay alone around (gulp) so many females, brought up the rear.  
  
"Guys a word of warning," Mr. Weasley began, and Harry followed them out of what he realized had been a carefully constructed tent, directly into the last rays of an amazing sunset. "remember that Fleur's family has veela running through it. I don't want anyone doing anything stup--"  
  
"Would you look at those--"  
  
"FRED!" Mr. Weasley barked, grabbing a hold of his son once more and turning him away from what Harry noticed was an EXTREMELY attractive woman, showing off what looked to be a garter made up completely of fairy wings.  
  
"Legs, dad!" Fred complained. "All I was going to say is legs..."  
  
"I bet you my share of stock in their shop that legs was the farthest thing from his mind," Ron muttered under his breath and Harry couldn't help but share a laugh as he stopped with the rest of the group in front of yet another tent.  
  
"Bill, it's us!" Mr. Weasley called and as if he had said the magic password, the curtain parted allowing them to enter what was clearly the male gathering hole.  
  
The first person Harry recognized was Charlie, who hovered over Bill with a large goblet in his hands, its contents smoking and frothing horribly. Although he could not hear what was being said, he saw Charlie attempting to push the cup towards Bill, who sat shaking his head, looking quite nauseous.  
  
"He looks dreadful," George mumbled.  
  
Fred smirked. "A case of the jitters, if you ask me."  
  
"Who can blame him? Blimey..." Ron said, and Harry noticed he looked almost as bad as Bill, who at that moment finally realized he had company.  
  
"Oh! Hey guys, er...sit down," he said with a wave of his hand, obviously unaware that the tent was empty aside from the chair on which he sat.  
  
"You okay Bill?" Mr. Weasley asked, kneeling beside him. He cast a sideways glance up to Charlie who shrugged, the goblet still smoking in his hand.  
  
"How does she look?" Bill said instead, looking around the room.  
  
"Beautiful," Fred said with a nod, punching George in the stomach who, still staring at the goblet, agreed enthusiastically with - "Absolutely smoking!" which seemed to be the worst thing to say, for Bill let out an amazingly loud hiccup.  
  
"Er, so, Charlie how'dja get here?" Ron blurted, taking a step back from the scene and staring at Bill as if he might burst into flames at any moment.  
  
"Apparated a--"  
  
"Apparated! Dad said we had to come as a family for 'appearances sake' didn't you d--"  
  
Mr. Weasley silenced George with a dirty look, and turned back to Bill saying assuringly, "Son, I was the same way on my wedding day. This is the worst part, I promise."  
  
Harry watched uncomfortably as Bill gave a shudder. He would never have believed it if he hadn't seen it for himself -- tough looking Bill falling apart in front of their very eyes.  
  
"I am never," Ron muttered in Harry's ear. "EVER getting married."  
  
"Guess we'll have to break it to Hermione then," Fred said over his shoulder. Harry watched as Ron's eyes narrowed, and chanced a grin before Ron turned back to him.  
  
"Let's hope this thing starts soon cause I---"  
  
The soft sound of gorgeous singing slowly wafted into the tent and the guys turned a collective head to the entrance as a willowy figure stepped through, a wide smile placed on a rather pallid face. The man nodded to each of them in turn, his long robes billowing around his feet as his fingers gently traced the spine of a beautiful book, glowing warmly around the edges.  
  
"Bill," the man said, and when he spoke Harry felt as if he had swallowed a flask of Calming Drought. "at the end of the ceremonial Night of the Veela we request your presence at the front of the alter. Boys, if you will then head out to meet the young ladies you will be escorting..." he trailed off with a warm sigh before turning and disappearing around the curtain.  
  
The music grew increasingly louder, and even though Harry could not see, he could picture the veela twirling and spinning their magic as they had done at the Quidditch World Cup. Ron seemed to share the same memory, for every time Harry looked over at him he had a finger placed loosely in each ear, mouthing something Harry could not decipher until finally the music faded and Mr. Weasley stepped forward, clapping and whistling enthusiastically before coming to his senses.  
  
"Okay, the, er Night of the Veela's ended. Bill, I believe that's your cue..."  
  
They all murmured their encouragement as Charlie helped Bill to his feet, holding him by the arm for at least a minute before Bill nodded and stepped away. Looking like a scared child (apart from the ivory fang in his ear) he headed to the curtain flap, looked back with a nod, and disappeared.  
  
"Okay guys," Charlie said, heading towards the entrance. "Let's go."  
  
Harry shuffled along with Ron back outside where, to his surprise, the sunset had completely receded, giving away to a magnificent starry night sky. They both watched as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley bumped right into each other, smiling as they made their way to the very first row of ivory benches.  
  
"Hey guys," Harry murmured to Fred and George in order to distract himself from the thought of having to walk down such a long aisle with Ginny on his arm, WITHOUT tripping. "Who are you guys escorting?"  
  
"Gabrielle," Fred said glumly as George coughed something that sounded very much like 'jail' and 'bait'.  
  
"Wha' about you George?"  
  
"Fleur's cousin, Jolie," he said with a grin. "Our age," he added, much to Fred's chagrin.  
  
They walked the rest of the way in silence, stopping in unison right in front of the girls. Harry watched as Ginny wound around Ron, coming up to him and grinning widely. His arm felt many times larger than his body as Ginny looped hers through his and they lined up awkwardly, Ron and Hermione leading with Harry and Ginny directly behind.  
  
"Here goes nothing mate," he heard Ron mutter as the music started once again.  
  
In a daze Harry began to walk, his mind trained on nothing except the song of the veela and the stars that seemed close enough to touch. 


End file.
